Mountain Heart
by stolen with the night
Summary: After the great war of the first age, all the Griffins returned to Valinor with the exception of one. Burying his egg deep within a mountain for protection, a griffin falls into a deep healing sleep only to awaken two ages later, still too weak to leave his mortal form and far from his unhatched cub. In which the Arkenstone is actually an egg. Griffin!daddy!bilbo


_**Summary-** After the great war of the first age, all the Griffins returned to Valinor with the exception of one. Burying his egg deep within a mountain for protection, the griffin falls into a deep healing sleep only to awaken two ages later, still too weak to leave his mortal form and far from his unhatched cub. _

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_**Authors Note-** Did it happen again? Yep. I need to stop posting stories and actually focus on the stories I do have but plot bunnies will be plot bunnies and we all know how they work, wont leave you alone until you finally write it down. So, I hope you like and I apologise for any mistakes- oh wait, I have chapter warnings, forgot about that._

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 ** _Chapter Warnings-_** _Time lines, what time lines?, Bilbo is majestic star, just kidding he'll be cute daddy!Bilbo, eventually, Griffin!Bilbo, Baby!Arkenstone, Egg!Arkenstone, lazy author, no beta, sucky English- see! Oh and Thilbo later._

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 _ **Chapter One-**_ **A Fallen Star**

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 **6th Century, First Age- F.A. 600**

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By the early sixth century of the first age, Morgoth had become mighty and uncontested in Middle-earth, not least because of the strife among the Ñoldor. The power of the Elves, Men, and Dwarves to resist him had been utterly destroyed, and along with all the great kingdoms of the Elves. Morgoth was now master of nearly all of Beleriand, save for the havens in Arvernien, which he gave little heed to.

In this time of need, the mariner Eärendil, by the guidance of a Silmaril which he wore on his forehead, searched and came to Valinor on behalf of Elves and Men. There, he begged the Valar to pardon and aid the enthralled peoples of Middle-earth. The Valar were moved by Earindil's plea and along with the Vanyar and the remaining Noldor in Aman, came to Middle Earth in a mighty host and of the Teleri of Alqualonde, they granted the use of their ships to the powers of Aman.

The great forces of Aman marched across Beleriand and met the terrible forces of Morgoth in the plains of Anfauglith. Balrogs; creatures of terrible darkness roamed free, ravaging the land, were destroyed by the host of the Valar, the armies of orcs were next to be vanquished. All the races of Middle Earth came together to defeat their dark enemy.

Clashes of steel against steel, iron against iron, skin against skin. Battle cries roared aloud, fierce and full of fear and determination. Tears ran their path down faces of those who did not recognize their own pain, death and blood were a constant companion. These times were ones of war, where no one was spared.

On ground were the men whose race could weather under any condition, their eyes full of fire and hands full with swords. Some were still children, yet they fought and many did not survive, still they moved forward. The race of men, forever moving forward. Through blizzard and rain, through the dark and the harsh heat, they fought for what they believed in, they paid for it in blood and restless nights filled with terror and screams.

Along side them, were the elves, the first born. Wise in their years and experience, the elves dreaded war as much as they loved the happy laughs of the young. Each elf was a warrior, despite their profession, they moved with the fragile grace of the wind and took the lives of their enemy with but a swipe of their beautifully crafted weapons. But the first born were not immune to death, many met their ends and victory was paid for in the silent deaths of their kin, their leaders and their children.

The children of Mahal fought with bravery and stubbornness never seen before, their axes and swords pointed to the sky as they charged, loyalty to their land as unmovable as the rock from which they were born. Soon, it did not matter from where one was born, they all fought along side each other, the men, elves, dwarrow and those from Valinor, each brothers in arms. Their bonds, forged by war, could not be broken in these times and they surged forward upon their enemy like light upon shadow.

Morgoth, who saw his defeat made one final effort, from his desperation he released his ultimate weapon, the winged dragons. Born of fire, death, lightning and storm, these beasts drove back the Valar and almost wiped out the enitire united force. Then came the eagles, who battled with the drakes in the sky, they were lead by Thorondor. The two armies were even in weight upon the scale.

For many days they battled, neither side gaining or losing ground and just when it seemed all would be lost, the gates of Valinor opened as the sky parted and down soared creatures who had not yet dared to re-enter battle after they had left the skies of Middle Earth. The distant kin of the eagles, with their large wings and hooked beaks, their strong bodies and golden tails, the griffins had returned.

The wind sung through their veins and as they sped through the darkened skies they rained down no mercy upon their opponents with loud roars that filled the hearts of those below with courage and renewed strength. Along with the eagles, the griffins slayed the dragons, suffering many losses themselves and finally, when the great black drake had been felled, the battle had been won.

Morgoth had been taken and tried for his crimes and all who had fought threw their heads skyward and wept in joy and sorrow for freedom and those who they had lost. Remaining Balrogs and Orcs fled, hiding in whatever dark holes they could find, many elves sailed into the west where they could find peace after war, the remaining stayed to lead their people in the East.

The dwarrow returned to their mountains and mourned for their lost ones and rebuilt their homes, the eagles took their kind back to their nests where many rejoiced over the birthing of hatchlings and the griffins, weary and tired of battle, sought rest back in Valinor where they swore never to return to Middle Earth ever again where they would all but forgotten by those who fought, mentioned only in fairy tales to children.

All except one.

Tired and war broken, this griffin still held hope for his future for cradled gently, ever so preciously in his front talons, glowed an egg. It shone with life and magic, swirling blues and shining white, all pulsing with life, more beautiful than any substance on Middle Earth. Up the griffin soared, scouring the lands for somewhere to place its unborn child, until finally it came across a great mountain surrounded by water.

With great care the griffin placed the egg deep within the mountain and took flight once more, he knew that his youngling would need the presence of a magic wielder to begin its hatching and would not survive the long journey. The griffin beat his large wings, the wind singing in his heart as he searched for the remaining staff bearers, but it was not to be. Suffering from the war the griffin collapsed on the earth, in a uninhabited glade where he would sleep for two ages before awakening.

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 **Third Age- T.A. 2745**

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He wanted to open his eyes, he wanted many things. He could feel the panic, the panic of his unhatched cub. Desperately he fought to open his eyes, to wrestle his body into a position where he could morph and let his wings unfurl and take flight to his little one. Distantly, somewhere in the back of his mind he was fully aware that he had no energy to call forth his wings let alone his entire body.

He felt the weak mortal form he had taken shiver at the thought and just when he was seconds from forcing himself upward, the panic of his cub subsided, replaced with a solemn quiet. Breathing heavily, the griffin let himself relax and with the last of his conscious thought he sent a wave of comfort to his unborn youngling and continued to sleep to regain his strength.

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 **Third Age- T.A. 2891**

The hobbits held a secret, a secret that they guarded with the ferocity of a dragon over its horde. Hobbits did not know much of their ancestry, but what they did know was something of value. Long ago, just after the turning of the second age, the hobbits had trekked all of Middle Earth for a place to call home. Many centuries had passed before they had found the beautiful glades of the Shire. It was their leader, the founder of the Oldbuck family that had seen it first, streaking against the pale blue sky like a falling star.

Bucca Oldbuck had pointed and had declared the star one of guidance that would lead to a resting place, a home, for the weary travelers. Skeptical in the claim, but more than used to constant travel the hobbits followed their self appointed leader to the rolling hills unclaimed by any man, elf or dwarf. The soil in the land was rich, clean water and good weather were abundant and when all turned to Bucca in gratitude he declared that the star had guided them, not he.

Eager to have someone to thank after years of homelessness, the hobbits spread far and wide in their new home to find the fallen star and have it placed as a monument of the founding of the land. Some stories say that when Bucca and his closest found the star it sat in a ring of flowers, the body of the star living and breathing was too pure to be seen and quickly took on the form of a hobbit so not to taint it. Other stories say that the star had used its power to guide the hobbits and paid the price of becoming one.

Either way, the star was taken and once the Shires smials had all been built the hobbits came together to build a home for him. The large structure sat on the tallest hill watching over the Shire, Bag-End, they named it, the meaning lost to them as time went by. A seed was planted in commemoration that would one day grow great and tall like no other, slowly merging itself with the sleeping stars magic where the tree gained a form of sentience that would protect the Shire when wolves would attack.

The hobbits hailed the Star, with passion that cried out that the Star guided them and protected them and so they named him Bilba, an ancient Hobbitish name that became altered as time went by until it was said the star was Bilbo, meaning he-who-fell-to-protect-and-guide. Many legends came from Bilbo, who slept encased in Bag-End. The elders of the hobbits often said that you would find your love under the Star tree of Bag-End where those without a home would be housed under the protection of the star until you found where you needed to go.

Many claimed a night in Bag-End would give you clarity of mind when you find yourself troubled and whether it was truly the Bilbo, the fates, or just good luck, all those who slept within the walls of Bag-End did indeed, find clarity. It was under the star tree and after a night in Bag-End where Belladonna Took, supposedly blessed at birth by the Star for being born on the 3487th or so, anniversary of his falling, presented her complete opposite, respectable Bungo Baggins, with a bouquet of star flowers with a grin so cheery it blazed.

And in front of every gaping hobbit, Bungo, who had never set sights on Belladonna Took before that night under the star tree took the flowers with shaking hands and plucked a fallen blossom from the star tree off the ground and placed it behind the pointed ear of Belladonna Took with a bright, red face and soppy, happily embarrassed smile. The two wedded soon after and lived a life of pure happiness which they thanked Bilbo for, claiming it was he who guided them to each other. Their first child was to be named Bilba Baggins.

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 **January 18, Third Age- T.A. 2941**

When two ages had more than passed since the great battle, a pair of golden eyes finally snapped open and a griffin with no wings and a mortal body limped its way in the general direction of where he felt his own magic reside. Hardly lucid, the griffin, dubbed Bilbo, staggered into the home where he felt the movement of the remnants of his own magic, drawing closer, Bilbo caught sigh of a middle aged hobbit with brown curls down to her hips cooking within her warm kitchen.

The griffin breathed heavily, hoping the chair in which he leaned against would hold him steady. The small walk he had made, not three lengths of the smial he now stood in had made his head spin with exhaustion. Already his heart beat erratically in his chest and for what seemed like the hundredth time he wished he could morph and take to the skies, instead he chose to conserve what little magic he had left after using it to heal himself while he slept.

Bilba Baggins turned to reach for a stick of butter, only to freeze upon seeing the legendary guiding star who had slept for two whole ages, the same one who her parents had swore on all the green hills had brought them together, panting and leaning against her mothers antique settee and with a small chocking noise in the back of her throat, she fainted. The griffin collapsing on her floor mere seconds later.


End file.
